


First Moon

by Liv Campbell (perdikitti), William Alexander (zannyvix)



Series: Bad Blood [3]
Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Anger, Comfort, Dominance, Fear, First Full Moon, Gen, Suspicion, Werewolf Angst, Werewolves, shifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdikitti/pseuds/Liv%20Campbell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannyvix/pseuds/William%20Alexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still at least a week's ride from Aspen Creek, Samuel prepares to help the pup through his first full moon Change. Charles is less certain of their young charge, particularly after another revelation about Billy's upbringing surfaces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was never intended to become an ongoing series, but this character Will. Not. Shut. Up. So I keep writing him. Set during the 1860s, in the midst of the Civil War. I do not own Samuel or Charles or anything to do with the Mercyverse. They're the property of Patricia Briggs. I'm just enjoying a bit of dabbling in her world, and I hope you all do, too. Perdikitti helped immensely with the plotting, pacing, and editing on this.

The moon called hard all through the day’s ride, though she wouldn’t rise above the horizon until well after dark. Samuel felt the familiar pull like an itch in the back of his skull, but it wouldn’t command his wolf until the time was right. He knew Charles felt the same, but his little brother showed no visible sign of it, calmly guiding his horse in the lead along the trail Bran had marked. Not so with their young charge.

“If you don’t calm down, your horse is liable to buck you off,” Samuel told the boy. Billy had been twitchy and irritable since they set off that morning, and his temper had not improved as the day progressed.

“I can’t,” Billy shot him a look that was half angry, half desperate. “It feels like biting ants under my skin. How do you stand it?”

Samuel half-smiled at his description. “Practice,” he said simply, and got a disgusted look from the lad in return.

“I do not _want_ practice,” Billy muttered, looking away. His fingers tied the ends of the reigns in restless knots. “I never asked to be this.”

“Nor did we,” Samuel replied. He had spent the day questioning Billy about the less traumatic moments of his childhood in an attempt to learn more about him and keep the boy’s mind off the impending Change that would come tonight. At least the Spaniard had seen his children were well educated, but no amount of talk of schooling would distract Billy from the moon’s pull forever.

They rode in relative quiet for a handful of moments, Billy staring intently off the side of the trail while their horses followed Charles’. Finally, the boy spoke again, a hesitation in his words.

“Samuel, may I ask a question?” Billy had pitched his voice lower than usual, but not so low a werewolf’s sharp ears would fail to catch it. He had not been a wolf long enough yet to know how far a voice could carry.

“Of course,” Samuel replied.

There was another long pause before Billy asked, “You and Charles, you are brothers, yes?”

“Different mothers, but yes, we are brothers,” Samuel agreed. Different mothers long centuries apart, but there was no need to burden the boy with that knowledge.

Billy nodded to himself, his gaze still fixed on the brush beside the trail. “And the other man who was with you that first day--the other wolf,” he amended. “You called him your _padre_?”

“He is,” Samuel confirmed. He kept his voice mild, though it wasn’t hard to follow where Billy’s chain of questions would inevitably lead. He had wondered how long it would take the boy to make the comparison between the life he had known, and the Marrok and his sons.

Billy’s throat convulsed on a hard swallow. “There were… There have been wolves in _mi padre’s_ pack who were my brothers, as Charles is yours. Older than I. Different mothers. Your _padre_ … Is he…  Is he like…?” The boy trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish his sentence.

Samuel shook his head. “We are our father’s only children,” he told Billy. “What the Spaniard did to you and your family is monstrous even by the standards of our kind. Bran would never do something like that.” No. His father had murdered entire villages in his worst days, his berserker days, but he would never attempt to sire a crop of children and force the Change on them, much less do it over and over.

The boy glanced at him as if seeking the truth in his words. Billy was far too inexperienced to have smelled out a lie even if Samuel had told him one, but there was little point in leading the lad along with falsehoods.

“He leads your pack,” Billy said, making it a statement rather than a question. “The only pack I have known is _mi padre’s_.”

“You father’s pack was not a healthy one,” Charles chimed in from ahead of them, not even pretending he hadn’t overheard. “There is a great deal of difference between a strong, healthy pack, and a diseased one run by an age-crazed Alpha.”

Samuel nodded. The wolves he and his Da had killed to get to _Don_ Alejandro had not numbered many, and fought amongst themselves almost as much as they had against him and Bran. It was as if their Alpha drove them to each other’s throats constantly. It made a certain amount of sense, in that it had kept them from challenging him. Not for the first time, Samuel mused that Billy with his in-born dominance and contrary nature would not have been allowed to survive long in such an environment. The Spaniard would never have tolerated a son who openly defied him, not as a wolf.

“Age crazed?” Billy asked with a frown. “He did not appear to age, to grow old. None of them did.”

“Nor will you, once you’re grown,” Samuel said. “Appearances can be deceiving, though. Your father was an old wolf. So many years can put a strain on the mind, and drive one to extremes.”

Billy looked away again, his expression troubled. “Are you very old, then, Samuel?” he asked.

“Old enough,” Samuel replied, smiling. Some things didn’t bear sharing, especially with young pups.

“Old enough to what?” Billy questioned.

“Just enough. Let it be, Billy.”

“But-.”

Samuel shot him a sidelong glance, and the boy subsided. He still looked unhappy, and fidgeted in his saddle. “Charles,” Samuel called ahead to his brother. “We’ll make camp in the next likely clearing.”

His brother looked back over one broad shoulder. “There are still a few good hours of daylight left,” Charles pointed out. “We could press on.”

“We could, but best have the horses settled before moonrise,” Samuel replied. He wasn’t concerned about the horses. They were accustomed to wolf scent. Making camp early ought to give Billy more time to calm down before the Change came on and took them all. He saw Charles catch the underlying subtext in his words. His little brother grunted, but didn’t argue, turning his attention back to the trail.

“We are stopping early?” Billy asked.

Samuel nodded. “Having the camp set up properly before the moon calls our wolves out will make things easier. The closer we get to moonrise, the harder it can be to think clearly.”

“Like a fog in the brain,” Billy agreed, his face still troubled. “I was afraid I was losing my mind. Like someone, something else trying to claw its way out.”

“In a way, you are,” Samuel told him. “That other you feel is your wolf. Always remember, you must control the wolf, not the other way around.”

“Or what?” The boy smelled of mingled suspicion and curiosity, and more than a little apprehension.

“Wolves who go feral lose their humanity,” Samuel told him. “Stay the wolf too long, and the man dies.”

He smelled a sudden spike of fear from Billy. “What if I can’t change back?”

“You’ve already done it once before,” Samuel pointed out. They had decided together with Bran not to tell Billy his Change was unusual, that the vast majority of wolves did not Change shape until their first moon. That mystery would bear puzzling out once the boy was safely bound to the pack.

Billy made a frustrated noise. “I did, _si_ , but I do not remember how. I just knew I needed to talk, to tell you about the women, and the wolf could not talk.”

“That’s good,” Samuel said.

“Good?” Billy gave him a brief, sharp look before carefully lowering his gaze again. “How is it good?”

“Controlling a shift takes both discipline and force of will,” Samuel explained. “The wolf responded to your need. When you have more practice, you’ll be able to shift when you wish it, and not only when you feel the moon’s pull.”

“I won’t ever want it,” the boy spat back, and followed it up with a stream of invectives in Spanish that made Samuel raise his brow, all of them directed at his dead patriarch. At least there was no love lost between the Spaniard and his only surviving son. He waited until Billy wound down before speaking again.

“Be that as it may, tonight we answer the moon’s call because we must,” Samuel said. “If you choose not to Change any time but the moon once you’ve proven you can control your wolf, that will be your decision.” Billy would have to demonstrate the necessary discipline or his life was forfeit. They could not allow for wolves who were unable to shift back and forth at will, to master their wildness and keep it in hand.

Billy gave a tight nod in response, his lips compressed into a thin, angry line. They rode on for perhaps another quarter of an hour before Charles called a halt in a likely looking clearing. A small stream gurgled nearby, and Samuel caught a familiar scent near the cold dead ashes of an old campfire when he dismounted from his horse.

“Da camped here,” he murmured.

“Perhaps two days past,” Charles added, passing the reigns of his horse to Billy. The boy flinched and kept his head down, and both older wolves ignored his fear. After a moment, Billy moved off to picket the horses and remove their riding gear for the night the way Samuel had shown him.

“He’s pushing harder than we are,” Samuel said, shaking out his bedroll. Billy’s lack of experience with horses had forced them to set a gentler pace than they might otherwise have kept, but he was learning.

Charles nodded and set to gathering tinder to start a new fire on the ashes of the old. “I estimate we’ve at least another week of riding before we’re back in the Marrok’s territory.”

“The _Marrok_?” The scent of Billy’s sudden terror filled the clearing so thickly it made Samuel want to sneeze to clear his nose. Charles stopped his fire making to stare intently at the lad. Billy had gone sickly pale beneath his deep tan, his face a mask of unreasoning fear.

“Billy-,” Samuel began, but the boy took a step back from him, shaking his head in wild denial.

“ _Jamás_ ,” Billy hissed and dropped the bridles he had been carrying, his entire body tense as a coiled spring. “ _Nunca_!” He bolted out of the clearing as fast as his wolf-enhanced muscles would carry him.

Samuel held up a hand to stop Charles when the other wolf would have followed. “No,” he ordered, and heard his brother growl. “ _No_ , Charles.”

“Da won’t be pleased if we lose the Spaniard’s welp,” Charles said, gliding around the fire pit and stalking toward the edge of the clearing.

“I’ll track him down,” Samuel said. “He won’t get far, not tonight, and Da made him my responsibility. Finish making camp. We’ll find you before moonrise.”

Charles’ gaze snapped to his, his younger brother’s eyes wolf-gold. For a long moment, Samuel wondered if Charles would challenge him here and now over the boy’s disposition. After a long handful of heartbeats, Charles broke the staring contest, looking away first. Not today, then. A few more decades, perhaps a century at most, and that would change, though. Once Charles came fully into his own, it would have to, but until then Samuel remained the dominant wolf. Charles let out a breath.

“By moonrise,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Samuel agreed.

“I’ll be waiting.”

 

~~~~~~

It didn’t take an experienced tracker to follow Billy’s trail. The boy had blundered and crashed into the underbrush with no objective beyond getting away from their camp in the clearing. Samuel followed at a steady lope, a ground-eating pace that brought him within earshot of his quarry before long. Even with the wolf’s strength and fear bolstering his young muscles, there was no way Billy could keep up a prolonged sprint forever. Already his breath came in labored pants.

Samuel stayed back far enough to keep the lad from scenting him, not that Billy knew how to use his nose properly yet. The terrain grew rougher, and Samuel’s wolf warmed to the chase, forcing him to sternly remind his other half that Billy was not their prey. It would have to wait until moonrise to find a proper hunt.

Following the easiest path before him proved to be Billy’s undoing. The boy scrambled into a steep walled ravine, racing headlong down it until it dead ended in a cliff made of loose scree. The face gave way beneath every attempt he made to climb it, sending the lad sliding back to the bottom. When he finally turned to head back the way he had come, Samuel stepped into his path, blocking the way out.

Billy froze, and then dropped into a crouch, lips peeling back from barred teeth. A growl trickled up from his dust-smirched throat and his eyes had gone brilliant cat-green. The wolf was close to the surface, too close. He was ready to fight like a cornered animal.

“I won’t go back!” Billy snarled thickly at him. “You want to give me to _el monstruo_ , the Marrok!”

“Billy, be calm,” Samuel told him, putting pressure behind his words to make them an order.

“ _Nunca_!” The boy shivered all over like a fly stung horse, fighting him. “Kill me now,” he demanded.

Samuel curbed his wolf’s urge to growl. He was more than his wolf, more than his need to be dominant, and he could smell the terror wafting off the young man. It was Billy’s fear talking, not his rational mind. Samuel’s wolf liked the smell of that terror far too much. It took all his years of control to keep his beast at bay so he could help the boy.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Samuel said. With Billy so agitated, there was no way he could calm his own wolf enough to sit down, but he compromised by leaning against a slender tree rooted near the floor of the ravine. “Tell me, why do you fear the Marrok?”

Billy’s shoulders bunched like hackles. “However bad _mi padre_ was, _el monstruo_ is worse. My father’s wolves, they told us. Said he would come and tear the beating hearts from our chests and eat them while we watched, and worse, much worse.” He shuddered again, green eyes fixed on Samuel. “I will not go to that. I will die by my own hand first.”

A wave of sadness washed through Samuel. Of course. The Spaniard would have been old enough to know the stories of Bran the Berserker. He must have used them to terrify his wolves and his children into submission, to keep them from seeking help outside his own pack.

“Billy,” Samuel said, keeping his voice measured as though he were trying to calm a skittish horse, “you’ve already met the Marrok.”

He saw understanding dawn in the lad’s eyes while the scent of Billy’s fear soured the air. The young wolf’s mouth worked soundlessly for a long moment before his trembling knees finally gave way, dropping him to the dusty ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Billy let out a little moan that ended in a string of Spanish Samuel did not quite follow. He could guess at the jist of it, though.

Samuel crossed the distance between them and went to one knee beside his charge. Billy wouldn’t look at him, not even when Samuel put a hand on his shoulder. The boy was tense as a drawn bowstring, quivering under his touch. The musk and mint scent of werewolf mingled with the smell of his fear. If he Changed now, it would be the wolf in charge, not the man, and the wolf would be less apt to listen to reason.

“You’ve met the Marrok,” Samuel repeated. “Bran is my father. Did he seem like a monster to you?”

“He killed _mi padre_ ,” Billy sounded numb.

“Yes, because of the things he had done, the people he had hurt,” Samuel told him gently. “You, your family, and others. The Marrok does not kill without cause. We are bringing you back to Aspen Creek to show you how to run with a proper pack, not to torment you.”

Billy shook his head again, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes to cut trails through the grime on his face. “I can’t, I _can’t_. Samuel, please...”

Samuel let a breath out in a long sigh, and reached to pull the boy into his embrace. Touch offered comfort, which Billy’s wolf would understand even if the rest of him did not. A few short decades ago, he had held his own brother thus, when Charles wasn’t much younger than this and upset over something. It would have seemed ancient history to Charles, but Samuel remembered. Billy was not his brother, but his desperate need for help, for guidance, called out to the same parts of Samuel. He said nothing, only held on tight until the boy began to relax by degrees.

When Billy finally calmed enough to pull away, there were damp spots on Samuel’s flannel shirt from the boy’s tears. He kept a hand on the young wolf’s arm.

“Da asked me to look out for you, and so I will,” Samuel told him while Billy stared at the ground. “That means you lean on me when you need to, and I will help you. There’s no shame in it, lad.”

Billy scrubbed at his eyes with one grubby sleeve. “I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice low. “I can’t do this, Samuel. I can’t be a wolf. I can’t.”

“You can, and you will,” Samuel returned, though the conversation stirred old memories better left buried. He put those thoughts from his mind. It was not he who needed encouragement now, but Billy. There was no time to drown himself in ancient sorrows. He glanced up. It was growing dim in the ravine, the sun sinking low in the west. The moon would rise soon.

“Some things are easier as the wolf,” Samuel continued, climbing to his feet and pulling Billy up with him. “Strip and Change. Best if it’s done before the moon calls it out of you.”

“...Strip?” The boy’s face heated with indignant modesty.

Samuel raised a brow at him. “You’ve only the one set of clothes, and if you wait to Change, the wolf will tear them to rags when it comes. Unless you’d rather ride the rest of the way to Aspen Creek naked as a jay?”

Billy’s flush deepened and the boy looked away, turning his back on Samuel as he moved to obey. He was still too thin, Samuel noted critically. Even with the wolf’s ability to heal, he could make out the old whip weal scars on the boy’s back, more evidence of the Spaniard’s cruelty. In a year or two even those would be gone, if Billy lived so long.

The early evening air was not cold, but Billy shivered in self-conscious misery once he had shucked off the last of his clothing. “I don’t know how to Change,” he mumbled, half-crouching at Samuel’s feet.

“But you feel it,” Samuel said. “Don’t fight the wolf, let it come to the fore. I’ll be here with you the whole time. I can help you let it out.”

“But…” Billy looked up at him, his plea trailing off into a wordless entreaty.

“Trust me.” Samuel gave his shoulder one more squeeze. Though he wasn’t an Alpha himself, helping another wolf Change forms was an easy enough trick. The magic felt subtly different in the boy than it did in his packmates. The flavor reminded him of Charles now that he had leisure to study it. His little brother was correct, Billy did posses some magic of his own, even if he was unaware of it.

As before the Change flowed over the young man. Bones cracked and fur swallowed up tawny skin. Most new wolves would have undergone an agonizingly slow transformation, taking half an hour or more to finish the transition from man to wolf. Billy finished in less than ten minutes; not as swift as Charles, but far faster than any new wolf ought to have Changed, even with the moon calling hard as she was. Billy’s wolf was long legged and rangy, his movements almost coltish when he finally staggered to his feet. His fur was jet black over deep gold, and when he filled out, Samuel estimated he would be nearly as big as Charles, as well. Now, though, he was still half-grown and awkward, an ungainly pup.

Billy’s wolf gave a distressed whine and stumbled as if unsure how to put one paw in front of the other. He froze again when he had shaken off enough of the pain from the Change to spot Samuel, and the wolf’s lips drew back in a silent snarl.

“None of that, now,” Samuel scolded him. “You know me, and I you. Down.”

The black wolf sank to his belly immediately, obeying the order with a speed that satisfied Samuel’s wolf. So long as the pup behaved, he would be welcome to share their hunt, even though he was not yet a member of their pack. The scent of fear had dwindled to nothing once the Change had finished, removing that distraction. The wolf whined, his ears pinning back in apology. Where the boy struggled, the wolf understood Samuel was more dominant than he.

Samuel gathered up Billy’s clothing and bundled it under his arm. “We’ll go back to the camp now,” he told the wolf. “Charles is waiting for us.” He held out a hand for Billy to sniff, waiting for the wolf to gather enough courage to try walking again. It took him a few attempts before he got the trick of moving on four feet rather than two. Once he was steady, the wolf paused to lean a shoulder against Samuel’s thigh. When Samuel dropped a hand to the black wolf’s back and buried his fingers in the thick fur of Billy’s ruff, the wolf sighed. He walked at Samuel’s side all the way back to the campsite Charles had set up in their absence.

The scent of the fire and the quiet whickers of the horses greeted them as Samuel guided the young wolf back to the camp. Charles had seen to their gear in his absence, and the bedrolls lay a safe distance from the fire, though there would be little sleep this night. His brother glanced up when Samuel stepped out of the brush with Billy at his side. Charles’ only reaction to the lad’s wolf shape was a lifted brow.

“He would have needed to Change in an hour or two, anyway,” Samuel said by way of explanation, and went to sit near the fire. Billy came along with him, though his scent took on a note of anxiety when they grew nearer to Charles. The young wolf curled up beside him on the dusty ground, nose tucked under tail and the long line of his back pressed to Samuel’s thigh. He kept a comforting hand on the wolf’s bony shoulder. “He was frightened, Charles, that’s all.”

“So frightened of Da he bolts for the woods like a rabbit?” Charles snorted.

“The Spaniard kept his wolves in line with tales of what the Marrok would do with them if he caught them. I can’t blame him for being afraid.”

“I grew up listening to you tell those stories,” his brother pointed out.

Samuel smiled. “You had the benefit of sitting at the same fireside with Da while I scared you with stories, little brother. He was there to put any fears they might have raised to bed. To Billy, though, the Marrok was painted as a nightmare worse even than his own father. The Spaniard must have done it to keep his wolves from seeking help outside their pack, and it was effective. I’ve done what I can to allay his fears for now. There’s no need to stir them up again. Have some compassion, Charles.”

He didn’t fear speaking openly in front of Billy. The young wolf would be too new to remember much of what was said after he shifted. Wolves, especially new wolves, were bundles of instinct and little in the way of rational human thought. For now it was enough that Billy’s wolf chose to trust him and showed it by staying close and following Samuel’s lead.

“He is dangerous,” Charles replied.

“I know,” Samuel agreed. “And I know the sort of threat he could be, but Da told me to watch over him. That means giving him a chance to prove he’s more than his bloodlines.” His brother didn’t visibly react, but Samuel knew his gentle rebuke had hit home. Charles possessed witch blood on both sides of his heritage, and their grandmother on Da’s side would make whatever Billy’s mother had been look like a harmless dabbler in comparison.

Quiet fell over their little camp as they made their final preparations before moonrise. Billy’s wolf stayed where Samuel directed, the pup obedient and almost eager to please. Samuel was still stripping off his clothing when the fat curve of the full moon rose over the distant hills, bathing them in her light. It buzzed in his brain, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Charles throw himself into the Change, not bothering to undress. His brother’s clothing simply melted away like magic as his wolf shape rolled up to claim the man’s with a speed he had never seen any other wolf manage, though Billy came close. It _was_ magic, something no other werewolf could manage. Charles alone possessed that ability.

“Show off,” Samuel murmured without malice, his voice husky with the moon’s pressure bearing down on him. The black-footed red wolf who was his brother sneezed at him, and Samuel cracked a smile. Then he let the Change take him and hoped Charles’ wolf would behave long enough for him to finish. He didn’t really believe Charles would kill the pup while his back was turned, at least as long as Billy did nothing to provoke him. Age, experience, and dominance sped Samuel’s Change, and while he could not shift as quickly as his brother, neither did it take him long to become the wolf.

He rose to his feet, shaking out snowy fur, and huffed in annoyance at the tableau before him. The pup must have made some move toward him while he was busy with the Change. The young wolf lay on his back in the firelight, tail curled tight to his belly. Samuel’s brother had his fangs buried in the soft fur of the pup’s throat, holding him perfectly still. A fraction of an inch further and those massive jaws might sever the big vein that throbbed frantically there, or crush the throat entirely. The pup breathed in strained pants, eyes rolling white with fear, but he stayed frozen and did not struggle.

Samuel grunted and padded across the clearing to shoulder the red wolf aside. His brother released his hold without protest, gliding away with a disinterested flick of his tail. The pup whined faintly when the white wolf moved to sniff his throat, but there was no scent of blood. Charles had provided an object lesson, and Samuel did not wholly disapprove. Dominant, the pup might be, but he was inexperienced with this aspect of their world. Better he learn it quickly. Samuel nipped the exposed throat gently, and then nosed at him until the pup rolled back to his feet. The young wolf stayed belly down, though his tail thumped a few times in the dust in cautious optimism. He smelled less like fear now, less chance of scaring off any prey they came across.

Charles waited for them across the camp, eyes gleaming gold in the firelit darkness. The white wolf nodded for his brother to take the lead, and then glanced back at the black and gold. The pup had lifted his head, ears pricking up when Samuel tilted his muzzle in invitation. When Samuel turned his back and trotted out of the camp, the young wolf rose and followed at his heels.

Already some distance from them, he heard Charles break into a joyous howl. His brother had found them prey to hunt. Samuel raised his face to the bright moon and sang back his acknowledgement, and a moment later the pup joined him. If the young wolf’s voice was a tad querulous, it still blended with the packsong. Samuel shook out the last of the kinks left by the Change, let his muscles bunch, and then bounded forward to chase whatever quarry Charles had flushed, the moon singing in his blood. The pup followed with clumsy eagerness that had him crashing through the underbrush like a lamed moose. Samuel was almost certain they would catch nothing tonight unless it was by luck alone. Still, he couldn’t fault the pup’s enthusiasm. The hunt had an infectious magic all its own.

They ran and hunted under the silvery light of the moon, and Samuel’s heart felt a little lighter for the first time since they left the Spaniard’s manor burning in their wake, that perhaps something good had come of the trip after all.

 


End file.
